


Mr June

by My_Black_Crimson_Rose6



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Worship, Burns, Embarrassment, Firefighters, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Rimming, Scars, Sexy Firefighter Calendars, TV Tropes, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6/pseuds/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington got it as a joke gift from his buddy Connie the first year of College. Even now, a year later, he has it pinned to his single dorm wall. It was one of those dumb Fire Station Calendars where the people working there would pose and become that month’s cover picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr June

**Author's Note:**

> TV Trope: "Heroic Fire Rescue"  
> Honestly just turned out to hot Firemen Calendar.
> 
> Sharkface= Dante  
> Girlie= same nickname  
> Chain Twins: Zaine and Vivian  
> Leader= Troy  
> Sniper= Dwight  
> Demo= Theo  
> Sleeveless/The Gunshow= Gale

Washington got it as a joke gift from his buddy Connie the first year of College. Even now, a year later, he has it pinned to his single dorm wall. It was one of those dumb Fire Station Calendars where the people working there would pose and become that month’s cover picture.

Well, Washington was too busy drooling over 2013’s June Fireman. And okay, so he begged for Connie to get him the next year’s calendar in case Mr June was in it again. Wash was hoping that he’d be May; May was the month that Wash was born in and he’d want nothing more than to swoon over those arm muscles. But unfortunately 2014’s issue didn’t have Mr June in it—well, not _his_ Mr June (Christmas was coming up and he was holding out hope for 2015 now).

“If I didn’t know any better I’d find the fact that you still have that picture hanging up a little creepy,” Connie pointed to  Mr June that late November night when _everything_ changed.

The floor of Washington’s dorm had a habit of a fire alarm going off three times a month, at that was only _his_ floor—throwing in the added bullshit of the rest of the dorm building only brought the shimmering rage monster buried under the cracking voice and freckles out. An angry Wash was not a pleasant one for anyone around—and not because of the cracked voice.

Connie was pulling out her laptop when the building’s fire alarm went off.

10:27PM on a Thursday night in the middle of November.

“If people can’t _fucking_ cook why the _fuck_ are you _trying in the **first place**_!” Washington exclaimed wrapping his slate gray hoodie around himself all the tighter. He shouldn’t have thrown his jacket at Connie when she forgot to grab hers in their haste to get out of the building.

“Sometimes people do dumb things in an act of desperation, Davey,” the brown haired woman grinned hip checking him once they cleared the last steps and made their way across the street and waited for the emergency services to arrive and to, _yet again_ , write it off as another dumb college kid trying to cook something out of their league on a stove as old as dirt.

The sidewalk was covered with snow and slush and angry, tired college students who wanted nothing more than to slowly die in the warmth of their beds before getting up for another series of shitty Friday classes. The fire engine pulled up, sirens and lights blaring before people began to pull themselves out of the vehicle and towards the building that wasn’t even smoking.

Washington really just wanted to see his dorm building burning. If he was going to be constantly called out of the warmth and into the biting wind he would’ve wanted it to be because there’d be an actual fire and not because of some dumb kid burning popcorn again.

Connie raised her hand and it snapped him out of his angry muttering—his planning of how he could kill his entire floor and get away with mass murder. Though he was fond of Donut and Doc, those two actually knew how to cook and they often made extra for him... yeah, those two could stay. “So Wash,” she wrapped her arm around his shivering form when a firefighter ran up to them with a large smile pulling at his lips, “this is my boyfriend Troy. The one that I’ve been telling you about.”

Troy was Mr August from the 2014 issue. Yeah, Connie still bought him this year’s calendar. And yes, Washington still used it. Sue him—no, on second thought don’t. He was a poor college kid putting himself through school he didn’t have any money for a law suit.

This _Troy_ man held his hand out towards the blond, “C.T. talks a lot about you.”

Washington couldn’t help but glare at his friend as he shook the man’s hand out of habit. The tiny woman at his side only grinned; Washington had no memory of Connie ever telling him that she was dating a firefighter. He would’ve made sure to remember that—he would’ve known Mr June’s name by now!

“All good things I hope,” Washington finally pulled his characteristic wide grin up—the one that took up his half his face, made his dimples and freckles more pronounced (and his scars seem to fade), and seemed to make the very air around him heat up an extra two to four degrees.

And that’s when Washington spotted Mr June walk around the truck and Wash could feel the grin drop as he took in the man he’s had pinned up on his wall since June of 2013. He had a large, angry looking burn down the left side of his face, down his neck and into his jacket. It made sense why he was positioned with only one half of his body visible on that calendar then—the scars actually made him all the more attractive for Washington.

If that were even possible.

It made him feel a bit better about all his scars—all his trauma. The scars running down his face, his neck... hidden under all his clothes. Wash pulled his sweater tighter around him when Troy leaned in and whispered, “His name is Dante.”

Connie sandwiched the blond man between her boyfriend and herself, “he’s single too.” Her brows waggled when his attention snapped her way.

“Bisexual too,” Troy added, flicking imaginary dirt out from under his fingernail. And that’s the moment that it really _hit_ him. Those two planned this—this conversation. His reaction and how’d they go about it.

“He has a thing for _blondes_ ,” Connie’s voice dipped into a drawn-out note as she waggled her brows.

Oh, Wash _knew_ that move she was pulling. He _knew it_. Yet here he was turning to Troy and agreeing to her game. “If you get me a date with him I’ll approve,” he’d approve of him before she brings him to meet the others—and her parents.

Washington has been the swaying vote that kept many of Connie’s love interests alive after meeting the friends and family. One of the first ten questions that they ask is if Washington met this person and if he approved of this individual.

Connie has started bribing him—smart, smart girl.

**[That was how David Washington got his date...]**

**[...and making a complete ass out of himself in the process.]**

He was having a bad day; a really bad day and the pills that he took normally weren’t kicking it. His nerves weren’t helping and both of them were drinking. Drinking and in a place that Wash normally didn’t even really enjoy in the first place—he didn’t _dance_. He just couldn’t get his sober body moving right, only when he was hammered.

They only had a few tense conversations between heavy drinking. Dante had said that he hadn’t been out to a club for awhile, most of his time off was spent sleeping the first day away while the second was spent chilling out in his apartment in his underwear eating nothing but take-out. So it was safe to say that Dante kinda just... slipped right into a party mood while Wash kept thinking _get me booze so I can blame anything I do on that_.

So Washington got hammered, Dante got hammered and some other guy started hitting on Dante, and then they were sucking face and Washington was suddenly ditched and another shot was set in front of him by the female bartender that got him his other drinks. “On the house,” she called out over the music and Wash could only smile at her bitterly in thanks before slamming it back and leaving the bar.

God, that was _horrible_. No wonder that guy swooped in and stole him right up. Washington was _always_ awkward, never having actually _dated a lot_ in his life and all that. The quick conversations that he had with the other were awkward and filled with pauses as Washington could hardly keep his gaze focused on him.

He took a cab back to his dorm, the ride a blur of lights and wallowing in self pity.

He should really just _burn_ that damn calendar—it was a dumb, _creepy_ thing to have in the first place. He can understand that the man wanted to get away as fast as possible. Wash would too—totally. Completely and utterly run for the hills.

He stumbled over to the stash of booze that he keeps hidden under his bed, pulling out a full mickey of vodka and ripping off the calendar from his wall. He was going to do what he should’ve done a long time ago.

When he pushed open the kitchen area of seventh floor of Winsor Building he immediately threw the calendar into the sink and twisted off the cap. He took a large and messy swing from the bottle before pouring the rest of the contents into the sink and lit one of the matches he carried around in his jacket pocket for York.

The contents in the sink lit up in a second and Wash could feel the fire in his belly simmer and expand as the flames in the sink burned hotter and brighter—he almost wanted to cry out in joy at the sight, almost.

The fire alarm brought a brief moment of sobriety and Washington panicked—he panicked, pocketing the mickey and matches and _booking_ it out of the kitchen area and down the seven flights of stairs. He ran, drunkenly, across campus to the dorm he knew South was living in.

South would understand—South would understand, totally.

**[South was a bitch and everyone found out...]**

**[...but at least a new first date was scheduled.]**

**DANTE** ♥

_That didn’t turn out how I wanted it to._

**ME**

_And how did you want it to go?_

**DANTE** ♥

_Not w/ me macking on some other dude_

_Didn’t know where u went_

_Did u get home safe_

**ME**

_Crashed @ friends house._

_She laughed at me_

_Connie says to not go to bar on 1 st date_

**DANTE** ♥

_Tell C.T that i know about the play-doh_

**ME**

_What happened with the play-doh?_

_She went white as sheet_

**DANTE** ♥

_Don’t worry about it_

_U planning next date?_

_I’m free Sunday_

**ME**

_Okay cool_

_Wanna meet downtown in front of Old G?_

_Say.... @ 7?_

**DANTE** ♥

_Eat b4?_

**ME**

_Yea_

**[The second date was better...]**

**[...a lot better.]**

They met at the statue of Old Greeno and walked from there towards the main street. “I keep hearing about how pretty the Christmas Lights are up on main and figured that it was about time I saw them at night,” their shoulders brush with each step.

Wash can see his breath puff out in front of his face and he just can’t rid himself of the dumb grin he has pulling at his lips as they passed under the lights. Like some cheesy, cliché romance movie and Wash couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter in his chest when Dante chuckled. “I’ve lived here all my life and it still surprises me just how gaga this city gets over their decorations. The park and canal are even more festive then this, it’s not that much further.”

They continue walking in silence, the crunch of snow underfoot and a few chuckles as one caught the other when they slipped. “Sorry I just upped and left,” there’s arms hooked together to stability as they made their way through the snow towards the paved pathway beside the railing overlooking the canal.

Dante snorted, “Don’t apologize to leaving because I was being a prick. Wasn’t in a great frame of mind that night but I didn’t want to just...”

Wash’s glove covered fingers touched the man’s scarred cheek and brought his attention back to the blond. “How about we start this over then? I’m David Washington, I’m a third year studying Law and minoring in Criminology.” He grinned that 40 kilowatt grin of his and held his hand out for Dante to shake.

The man huffed, rolling his eyes but played along. “Dante Xiao-Li, Firefighter,” his brow arched up into the beanie pulled low over his hair. His black hair dipping over his eyebrow; his lip pulling up into a flirty smirk that had Wash blushing despite himself. “So Wash... studying to become a lawyer?”

Washington nodded leaning back against the railing, “that’s the hope. Got one more year before I gotta fight my way through the rest of the schooling.” He sighed heavily just thinking about it. He’s going to be _broke_ by the end of it—at least his case got him some money to put towards school, but still. It wasn’t as much as he would’ve needed. “What about you, did you always want to do what you’re doing?”

Dante licked his chapped lips, pulling out a pack of smoke from his jacket pocket. “As a kid I had this unhealthy fascination with fire, never really grew out of it. Figured this line of work would get my close to it without having to actually light any—I’m right for the most part.”

Wash giggled—shit, he actually giggled.

The man stared, mouth agape with the cigarette halfway to his mouth. His brown eyes taking in the flushed cheeks freckled with a range of brown spots of different shades. They speckled down from the man’s exposed brow, down his cheeks and chin to his open neck. “You’re fucking adorable,” he whispered placing the fag between his lips and unwrapping his scarf from around his neck.

When Troy claimed that he had someone that Dante should meet—that he fit Dante’s preferred type to a T, he didn’t believe him. But no, Troy was right. Fucking hell he needed to buy that man a drink or something because if he doesn’t fuck this up (again) he’s going to fall smitten for this blond.

 _He has dimples!_ Dimples!

“You’re going to get sick,” he mumbled around the unlit cigarette in his mouth, winding the scarf around his date’s neck. “At least if I do I have a possibility of another day off work,” his glove covered hand brushed up and over the scar on Wash’s cheek, thumb caressing over his cheek bone before dropping to his side.

Washington tucked his flustering face into the man’s scarf and stared down at their snow covered feet. He leaned forward, pressing his beanie covered forehead to the man’s collar. Was the first date too early for a kiss on the cheek? He did it anyways; pressing a quick chapped kiss to the unscarred half of the man’s face before quickly pulling away with an even deeper blush colouring his cheeks. “Thank you,” he smiled shyly before returning to his earlier lean against the railing.

**[They had their first kiss two days later...]**

**[...because of another fire alarm.]**

Washington was on his way back from his late Tuesday class when he noticed his dorm building started piling out and the flashing lights of the fire engine was parked out on the curb. Washington sighed, joining his fellow students out on the freshly shoveled sidewalk with his face tucked into Dante’s scarf.

He had started _sleeping_ with it still tucked around him. He wore it all through his classes and when Connie would smile at him knowingly Wash could only stick his tongue out at the woman.

Wash adjusted the strap on his bag and got comfortable, pulling out his phone and flipping through his unanswered texts and finally replying to his friends before switching over to his games and other social websites. The people around him mingled and groaned amongst themselves.

He paid them no mind, not until he felt a tug at the strap on his shoulder and he snapped his head up to snap at the person. “Wha—uh,” the words died on his tongue and the man in front of him smiled. “Um, hey.”

The students began to slowly pile off the sidewalk and back towards the dorm in a slow crawl. “Hey, how was class?” His warm hand plucked Wash’s phone from his grasp and tucked it to the black jacket of its owner.

“Long, boring,” Wash shrugged leaning in to press their chests together and nuzzling his face into the crook of the older man’s neck.

“So,” Wash could feel him swallow, “I have tomorrow night off if you want to go for a bite to eat. Nothing fancy, just...” Wash looked up and straight into brown eyes. “You’re wearing it,” Dante smiled fingers feeling the fabric of his scarf before following it round, round and up to cup Washington’s jaw.

Their noses bumped together and Wash couldn’t help but let a huff squeeze from his lungs and puff against the man’s lips before they pressed together. Wash’s hand crept up, over the tough material of the man’s black and caution yellow jacket and into the hair laying pressed against his nape. He hummed, pressing himself flush against the taller man.

His stomach fluttered with all sorts of different breeds of butterflies; their wings tickling the lining of his stomach, and his heart mimicked the flutter with each beat. They broke away without ever opening their mouths, eyes fluttering open at the same time. “Text me?” Washington breathed out a heavy sigh when the man nodded.

They kissed once more—twice before Troy took his colleague by the back of his jacket and dragged him back towards the truck.

**[3 more dates later...]**

**[...going good, going good.]**

They didn’t call those midnight call up and grab a drink (booze or coffee) as dates. They didn’t call that day that Wash ditched one of his hour and a half classes to spend the whole day curled up on Dante’s couch, watching comic book movies and throwing popcorn at each other.

They didn’t call the random meet ups dates.

Dates were for planned outings that included that spur of the moment dinner where Wash had a day to plan for. Dates were going out to see a new movie in theaters and sneaking kisses throughout it. Dates were going to the mall because “holy shit Christmas is coming and I need to get my friends something!” and they hold hands and Washington spends too much time playing with the cats in the pet store.

This wasn’t a date.

This was two adults making out against a wall while one pulled the shirt off and over their head. This was one man carrying the other into the bedroom with a firm hold on their ass and tosses them on to the bed. This was two consenting adults working each other to a blissful release.

Dante finally pulled the other man out of his long sleeved shirt, latching his mouth to the underside of his jaw as Wash began to tug down his pants, pressing his feet against the denim and sliding the loose material down his legs. “I’ve been thinking about this,” his open mouth puffs hot breath against Washington’s neck as they ground together.

The blond’s belt buckle _clinking_ against the button of his pants—he wanted _out_ , out of the restraining fabric. He wanted the man’s hands all over him, pulling him closer. Wash pulled Dante’s lips back to his, pressing his tongue through the rows of teeth and pressing, sliding against the other’s tongue with a moan.

Dante pulled away, a string of spit connecting the couple only breaking when he licked his lips. The man leaned back on his heels, taking in the appearance of the man under him.

All the scars; he touched one of the ones of the man’s abdomen hesitantly. Wash couldn’t help but shutter and move away from the touch. “I,” the blond licked his lips. His hands flying to coverer the angriest looking ones on his torso—the one by his collarbone and the other right over his heart. His gaze shot to the corner of the room and he quickly scampered up to the headboard. “Shit— _fuck_ ,” he whispered bringing his legs up to cover himself further.

Dante pressed two fingers to the man’s ankle, “go get under the covers, I’ll go get a shirt for you.” He shuffled over to the edge of the bed and pulled himself up and off, his left shoulder popping as he roll the scarred limb.

The sheets rustled behind Dante as he searched through his closest and pulled one of his many black band t-shirts from it and tossed it towards the man on the bed. “I’m sorry,” the college student called from the bed and Dante snapped his attention back to him. “I always ruin everything,” his lips pulled up into a pitiful little smile and Dante shook his head.

He crossed the room, a sat heavily on the bed in front of his partner. “Never feel sorry about this,” he cups the man’s face in his calloused hands and kisses the tip of his nose. “Never apologize for something like that, you did nothing wrong.”

Wash made an attempt to shake his head in the negative. Dante shushed him.

He took the blond’s hand that still curled around his collar, even with Dante’s large black tee covering him and most of his marks, and brought the hand towards the canvas of burns and scars covering the right side of his face. “I was a dumb kid, really dumb.” Wash’s fingers twitched against the scar tissue, “I told you how I used to set fires? Well, I did that and it got out of control. Ended up blowing up a drum of gasoline,” he brought their intertwined fingers together down the ruined side of his neck, over his shoulder and chest.

Wash traced back up towards his shoulder when the man released his hold; he felt over the rough texture, the smooth scarring in areas. “There are still days that I don’t want to show my face, when it gets too much,” his voice soft—calming as Washington leaned in a pressed kisses to the man’s burned shoulder.

It blurred after that, the time that they spent there. Washington didn’t speak up again until the apartment went silent and the man was tucked in behind Wash, he could feel their bare legs twining together.

“My Pops wasn’t a nice man,” he whispers out into the dark bedroom. Feeling the exhale against his neck Washington continues, “He was never kind to me growing up. Mum was scared of him though, afraid that if she spoke up he’d start hitting her instead. She stayed quiet and then when I was twelve she was just _gone_ one day when I came back from school.” He licks his lips and finds the man’s hands with his. “When I was sixteen Pops came at me with a knife, breath reeking of whiskey, and he kept. Shit, he just kept _pressing_ and I just keep remembering pain—and, and.”

His world shifted as the man behind him pressed their lips together; again and again and again. Arms encompassing him and tucking his face against the man’s neck; he caught the first sob that wracked his body, choking it back down. The second one escaped followed by a third; that’s when the tears started.

“It—it hurt, it hurt so much.” His hands slipped up over bare skin, up to wrap around the man’s neck. “Everyone _knew_ , t-they knew that Dad hated me. Why would someone’s parents do that? Why couldn’t they _love me_?!” His breath kept catching; his ribs were starting to ache under the strain beneath Dante’s arms.

**[Another year goes...]**

**[..another on the horizon.]**

**ME**

_What are you doing on 31?_

**SWEETHEART**

_New years?_

_Nothing_

_Connie mentioned wanting to drink but IDK_

**ME**

_Wanna come over?_

**SWEETHEART**

_Yea_

_Yeah id love to_

_Need to bring anything?_

**ME**

_Nah_

**[They saw fireworks...]**

**[...more than one type.]**

Washington never noticed just how uncomfortable Dante’s couch was until he was naked, spread out on the leather and his skin kept sticking to it. His body shivering there with long drawn out kiss to the scars littering his chest, his voice catching as he nip and sucked marks into his flesh from jaw to rib. Wash couldn’t help but pull at his own hair, he had been _told_ to keep his hands behind his head.

Told to keep them there while the older male worshiped his body until it was nothing more than a quivering mess of muscles and a trail of purple marks down the length of his body. “Turn over babe,” Dante purred tapping his hip until Wash whimpers in protest but rolls over all the same.

His cock is _leaking_ onto the couch, Wash could already feel a _puddle_ forming against his stomach and he shivers.

The firefighter taps a beat onto the white globes of flesh presented to him, not a scar marking it. Just a beautiful constellation of freckles that he’d map out in a moment. He kissed the scars on his shoulders, licking over the marks—tongue pressing flat against the pale violet markings.

Kissing and nipping at each bump and groove of his spine. His knees stuck to the leather as he adjusted himself lower, and lower and further still, until he could kiss and bite at the man’s pale white ass. “So fucking gorgeous,” he purred sucking another deep purple mark.

He squeezed at the flesh, rolling it in his hands before pulling Wash’s ass cheeks apart and _groaning_ at the sight of his hole already twitching. Dante dipped his head down, burying his face between those two fantastic mounts of flesh and began his job anew. Licking—lathering the skin around his entrance before pushing just the tip of his tongue in. He hummed as he pressed in all the further, breaching that ring of muscles and only continued to push in (and in, and in).

Wash mewed and shivered under his grasp, body spasming in tiny aborted jerks—should he push back, should he grind forwards? “Please,” he begged finally deciding on pushing back into the man’s mouth, “please please—more, please give me more.” He was sobbing by now, with each swipe of the man’s tongue sending off an electrical current through him. His arms sticking to the couch when he pushed up, arching into the mouth assaulting him in all the most pleasurable ways.

Dante pulled away with one final bite to Wash’s ass check. “I have to go get lube,” his voice absolutely _wrecked_ , nothing more than a lustful rumble in the back of his throat. Wash nodded numbly, whimpering when the man left the couch then the room after that.

Wash pushed himself up into a seated position; legs open and bent as he jerked himself off with a slow flick and drag of his wrist. Groaning, Wash pinched his eyes closed and listened to the movement in the next room—then the footsteps on laminate. “Your couch sticks,” the blond pouts up at the other as he approached, “we should just move to the floor.”

Wash met him by the coffee table, arms wrapping around the taller man’s neck and slowly dragging him down to the soft carpet under their feet. “You’re going to get rug burn,” the man chuckled, breath knocking out of his lungs when he finally toppled down the rest of the way on top of his lover. Their limbs tangling together and crotches grinding.

The cap of the bottle opened with a pop and Wash shivered in anticipation. Drawing in a hiss between clenched teeth and Dante apologized for the cold lube—couldn’t even _warm_ it up a little before pressing a finger in. Wash’s head thumped against the carpet, eyes pinching shut as he breathed, “another.”

He added another finger.

Wash whimpered grabbing a handful of Dante’s hair and pressing their mouths together as the man twisted his wrist, pressing further and further. His mouth tasted of mouthwash and Wash was honestly past the point of caring if he tasted like asshole or not (but the thought counted, he’d make note of that for later). “Ah,” he bit his lip and thumped his head against the carpet two—three, four times as Dante added another finger and massaged that one spot with precision.

“So fucking _perfect_ , beautiful,” Dante’s rumbling voice brought another shiver down his spine. His teeth nipping and pulling at the skin pulled over his jaw. His minty fresh breath assaulting his nostrils even as he pulled back—away, _why away?_

Wash pouted, grabbing at the air in front of him. “Come back,” he groaned, continuing with the grabby hands.

Dante shook his head, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he rolled the condom over his prick with a few flicks of his wrist. “So needy,” he licked his lips leaning over and pressing a kiss to the man’s knee, then the trail of blond hair leading down to his weeping member, then to the scar on his collar bone, and finally to Washington’s puckered lips.

He pressed in along with his tongue—Wash broke away mid-kiss to keen, a whimper following as he pulled him in all the faster with just the pull of his legs. “Fuck me like you mean it,” was the last thing that either of them said.

Was the last thing that either said that wasn’t broken with moans or open mouth kisses. Was the last thing that wasn’t punctuated with a hard thrust or hands gripping and pulling—dragging, clawing grooves down a tattooed back.

Was the last thing that either said that wasn’t the other’s name.

**[Note to self:]**

**[Don’t fuck on that carpet again.]**

Spring brought on the end of the typical school year of the college lifestyle. It brought drinking the night away and finals and just a mess of bullshit piled on bullshit. Dante heard all about it from Wash and from Troy’s girl C.T, and even from one of their part-times who they’ve nicknamed Girlie.

It was when things got _sloppy_ , rushed under the strain of finals and end of the year projects. It wasn’t uncommon for the station to be called down to the college because of an _actual_ fire instead of an alarm going off in one of the dorms.

Dante squeezed into the truck alongside the twins (Zaine and Vivian), “call in from the college. Students trapped in one of the labs. Something about them testing out one of the machines and it fucked up.” Gale zipped his jacket up the rest of the way and nodded back to Troy and Dwight in the front.

Spring brought out the panic before summer. It was starting to get hot, the days were growing longer and in extension Dante was starting to work more. Washington was at school or studying for school more often than not and he kindly asked to be left alone in this time— _I have five cases to read over and a twenty page paper to write. I just finished a forty page one and I still need to edit it. If you want to do anything you’re coming over here, we’re going to maybe cuddle for twenty minutes while I drink more caffeine and cry into your chest as we fuck._ Dante only saw him once and that was to throw him over his shoulder and carry him to the nearest fast food place to feed him, give him a hug and a kiss before depositing him back into his mountain of papers and coffee mugs.

Just one more month before Wash finished all his finals and he was going to be moving out of his dorm room and... Well, actually into Dante’s apartment. Wash’s parents weren’t going to be the country for that summer and he wasn’t able to rent or borrow anyone’s truck to move himself back halfway across the country. And Dante didn’t want him leaving—nope, not at all. He wanted that man to stay in his damn bed for the rest of the day... the month, maybe even the next three years. Point was, was that he didn’t want Wash to move far away and he had the space.

They talked about it; they talked about it a lot actually. The boys at work laughed at him, compared moving in to getting married—settling down, _one trick pony_ kind of show.

He could see the smoke and flames as the engine pulled up to the building, “I’m going in aren’t I?” He already knew the answer; it was always him. Vivian laid a heavy hand on his shoulder as he sighed, they were all piling out. Feet in constant movement as Dante remained by the truck pulling on the mask, the tank and returning his helmet.

Theo jogged alongside him, “we have confirmation that everyone is gathered on the far side of room 128. There’s three students trapped, way out is blocked.” He waves the cell phone that he pocketed from one of the panicked students gathered.

**Davey Wavy**

“Is this C.T’s?” he snapped his gaze up from the message on screen and glanced towards the crowd again and sure enough the brown haired woman stood there biting at her thumbnail. “For fucks sake,” he hissed, “tell them I’m coming in.”

He ran towards the heat and flames, Gale following behind him with the axe. They were the pair that would brave the flames—the heat, the smoke—to carry out those trapped still inside. Both men known in the station for behind able to carry the most on top of their gear.

Outside the ambulances was finally pulling up, paramedics waiting for the two firefighters to return with the trapped students.

Three minutes passed.

Five minutes passed.

When ten minutes was creeping forwards the two men jogged out of the smoke and steam with their prizes slung over their shoulders. Three unconscious students covered in soot were quickly plucked from their grasps and ushered towards the other emergency personnel.

**[Smoke, heat, flames...]**

**[...he’s nearly died too many times now.]**

It wasn’t the first time Washington woke up in a hospital. He’s been stabbed, he’s broken bones, he’s gotten run over and/or hit by five different cars, he’s been in two car accidents, and has now survived a lab accident.

He was now thinking that extra two percent to his grade wasn’t worth the extra credit.

“How are you feeling?” the hospital bed hardly dipped when the man took a seat beside Wash’s knees. His chest hurt, throat horribly dry and everything was _dirty_ and heated. Washington could only grunt.

Dante shook his head, “don’t make me have to carry you out of a burning building again. Please, Love.” Wash blinked in confusion. Dante carried him out? And honestly, could he really promise him that? Wash was accident prone, life balanced on the tip of a blade too often for comfort.

He shrugged, not trusting his voice—not sure if he could even make that promise to begin with but he’d try.

Plus, what better safeguard than a fireman as a boyfriend?

**Author's Note:**

> C.T did buy him the 2015 calendar and yes Dante is Mr May.


End file.
